


Since Russia

by JetnessAffliction



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:10:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetnessAffliction/pseuds/JetnessAffliction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inaho wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Since Russia

It was in no way a dream.

Inaho’s eye remains fixed and unseeing as his brain waves and blood pressure march on in predictable cadence on the monitors by his hospital bed. He’s been sedated since post-op, an unchanging and listless collection of mysterious organic and inorganic synthesis, thin limbs and frail bones bandaged in so much white and bisected by so many wires and tubes that they barely resemble a boy, much less a soldier. But his body does fight on instinctively, as if steeling itself during these short cycles of pre-REM sleep, dutifully building up his defense. Brick by brick, his consciousness is rebuilt, each one indicated by steady electronic beeps.

His lips have not moved on their own power in weeks, not since Russia, but his breaths are stronger today than they were yesterday, and that is what matters most.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

 

Then it starts.

 

It starts farther back. In Shinawara. It’s just after lunch, during homeroom period, and Okisuke is tugging on Inaho’s hand, pleading for a copy of yesterday’s chemistry homework. Pleading _Inaho, Inaho, please help me out_. Loud and over exaggerated, his fingers clammy and insistent until the pleading suddenly becomes somber and scared. _Inaho, please help_... _Inaho..._  Then the ground quakes and Okisuke’s hand is pulled away in a cold rush of air that freezes Inaho’s blood.

 

**“Dr. Yagarai, quick!! BP is dropping rapidly!”**

 

And then Okisuke is dying.

 

**“He just--!? I don’t know, he won’t stabilize!”**

 

His sister’s voice, angry and helpless, pierces through, but he can’t focus on it, can’t listen to it. His body marches on, recklessly, nerves sparking and blood pumping dangerously faster. Inaho’s eye twitches under its lid erratically, frantically trying to focus on some distant, unseen vantage point, but there is none for it to find because this is in no way a dream.

 

There is a frightful commotion now, dust and rubble and the spray of sea water. He can’t hear anything, not right after the thunderous sound of AP rounds and expelled shells bouncing off a steel deck. Vertigo pulls and he falls obediently, O2 mask digging an imprint into his chin as the snow storm rushes past his monitors. His grip tightens on the controls, he braces in his seat before impact. 

 

**“Nao-kun! Fight on, Nao-kun! You can do it!”**

 

He will. Without question, he will. But first he tucks the small scrap of paper behind his radio, as close as he can to his heart.

 

**“Doctor, please!”**

 

Bricks tumble one by one. Faster now.

 

Each brick is punctuated by an electronic beep, tumbling over each other in rapid succession, alarms blaring. Inaho tumbles with them, falling forward too quickly. He feels the dull pain throb through his forehead and sting over his eye and he smells that thick, slippery mess of sweat and blood mixing aside his nostrils and no matter how prepared he thinks he is, the impact comes harder than he predicted.

The impact slams him mercilessly.

_Inaho..!_

At the sound of Seylum’s voice, he struggles to open his eyes. He almost succeeds, until burning pain shoots through his head and his vision is tinged red. His brings his hand up, stunned, but has enough sense to force the lid close. His fingers press gingerly, tangling in matted strands of hair. _I’m here, Inaho. I’m right here._ Then his fingers are wrapped tightly in hers, warm and trembling and squeezing for a brief moment until the deafening roar of gunshot rips them away.

 

**“Nao-kun… your hand…?  Doctor! his hand!”**

 

His eyes twitch reflexively as the dark, cold spray hits him. That sharp acidic smell. That wash of red at the edges of his vision. 

 

He didn’t want this.

 

It was always a possibility, but he didn’t want it. He didn’t want any of it.

 

His mic is too tight around his throat. 

 

It wasn’t supposed to pan out like this.

 

And it wasn’t supposed to hit him that hard.

 

**“Nao-kun please… Fight on…!”**

 

His legs are moving. Dropping. Crumbling. His toes scrape, taking any foothold. His arms are are pulling, too weak for his own deadweight. Fingers slide over metal and rubble with barely any grip. Too weak for Okisuke.

 

**“You have to fight!”**

 

Too weak for Seylum.

 

**“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Nao-kun! But you have to..! Fight!”**

 

But he’s not listening to his sister anymore-- his body stills and his breath follows at the sound of another, familiar voice. Stripped of static and echoing with a heavy, metallic echo of a slide chamber snapping angrily into place. Heavy and loaded. _Don’t._

 

**“Nao-kun, please…”**

 

He wants to stop.

 

He wanted to stop.

 

But he is just one small cog in a gilded and antiquated system. The universe was no more aware of him than of the bullets in that chamber. Bullets or bodies in this wreck of an unnatural structure, they were all the same. _That’s far enough. Don’t touch her highness…_ They would all be treated accordingly. Mercilessly. _Orange._

 

He turns.

 

**“Fight on!”**

 

Inaho burns the image into his memory-- pale hair, searing eyes, red collar, arm melting to red cuffs and transforming into a gleaming barrel.

 

**“Don’t leave me to fight without you, please..!”**

 

His fingers twitch again, curling around Sleipnir’s controls.

 

**“Fight with me, Nao-kun!”**

 

They close tight, squeezing around the grip of his side arm. His arm sweeps up and his index finger pulls--

 

Inaho suddenly opens his eyes, blinking as the pupil dilates to absorb the flood of light, or else rotating with a quiet mechanical whir, adjusting aperture.

 

He stares ahead and in a heartbeat, the remnant of red-tinged memory fades away.

 

He speaks for the first time since Russia.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> part 1 of 2.. I think. Part 2 will be Inaho/Slaine...ish.


End file.
